


Tender is the Love of Yellow and Green

by Flower_Flame_Princess



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Alternate Universe - Magic, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Artist Steve Rogers, Bi-Curiosity, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Fluff, Good Slytherins, Gryffindor Sam Wilson, Hogwarts Professors, Hufflepuff Bucky Barnes, M/M, Mentor Minerva McGonagall, Quidditch, Slytherin Natasha Romanov, Slytherin Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers Feels, Wizarding Culture (Harry Potter), Wizarding World (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:08:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26484688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flower_Flame_Princess/pseuds/Flower_Flame_Princess
Summary: Having been home schooled most of his life due to his many illnesses, Steve is already in his fifth year when he finally sets foot on the doorstep of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Only, he's not that looking forward to it. He should be ecstatic, but past events that stick a label on him almost immediately, and grim memories that infest his mind, make it difficult to enjoy any of it.There is this one student, though.A bright yellow among the sea of dark colors that catches Steve's eye almost immediately. A sweet smile that may just chase away the ghosts that haunt his dreams. Or so he hopes.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 7
Kudos: 16





	Tender is the Love of Yellow and Green

Light scattered, wavelengths expanding and multiplying, and the complicated tapestry of soul and mind broke, only to grow back together in the midst of a wonder of colors, displayed beyond the borders of his soul. The universe reflected in his eyes, twinkling with the thousands of stars, planets and supernovas, all forming patterns from their joined energy, shattering like the stained glass he saw his reflection in.

With the stars still twinkling in his eyes, he closed them, light scattering once more and all joining back together to form a body, two bodies, the many patterns like a kaleidoscopic configuration, reflected in all mirrors around.

In his hand, he clutched his trunk, the new leather pressing hot against his palm. The large thing offered a comforting presence, a certain weight that grounded him while they spun; a sign in the dark, one of safety. Watching the world form around him, was like watching a child fill in a coloring page, only with so much speed it left him slightly disoriented.

A white canvass flowed out before his eyes, lines appearing rapidly like a sped-up video, colored in with green hues; a field of grass. Dark blue streaked above, the night sky forming like wool knitting together, painted by a great big hand that held the brush tightly. 

Beneath his feet, a stone road unfurled, stretching out until it touched the closed doors of a large building, a castle. There was a short flash, no more than the light of a camera when it captured an image. He stumbled forward, feet a second too late to catch up with him, his hands thrust out to catch himself before the fall would ensue. 

The trunk that he had been gripping so tightly, dropped from his hand, the weight gone, nothing to hold on to anymore. As he swayed his arms to regain his footing, the trunk hit the ground, a heavy thump spinning up at any ears close enough to hear. The air around him was hot, though the gentle breeze did much to compensate. There was dust hanging around him, a wet scent of dirt adding something he was not quite used to. Carefully, he stood straight; muscles, fibers, cells, all disoriented, all new to the sensation he just went through.

A deep breath; a new smell; a new experience; a new way of being. He blinked again, eyes slowly opening and closing, turning all that existed dark for the mere half of a second, nothing to be seen while he did. Once reopened he looked into a set of worried eyes, crinkled at the corners by years of age long past.

"Are you alright, mister Rogers?" the woman asked in the dark robes asked, looking him up and done as he stood unsteady on his feet.

He nodded, though still a tad hesitant. "Yes, professor. Just a little dizzy."

She hummed in response, watching him take his trunk before they approached the large building, the castle, mumbling something under her breath about certain dangers and passing by Poppy later if he was still dizzy. Knowing the low murmur of words was not meant for him, but for herself, he kept quiet, stepping alongside her firm stride with a funny feeling rising in his stomach. Something that had nothing to do with the fact he had just been pulled apart at home, and put back together again somewhere completely else.

They entered the large castle, and he felt as if the two eyes that he possessed were not enough by far, and he widened them to take in all that expanded around him. That which they walked through was so tall, grey stones rising like mountains everywhere he looked, covered in a sea of paintings. The echo of ancient magics flew like a spring breeze through the air, and he could feel brush along his skin. The gentle wisps of energy caressed his cheeks like the touch of an old lover, purring as it sensed the new source of magic entering their domain.

The faces of the paintings looked at them curiously as they passed, stretching out their necks and even rising to their feet to grant themselves a better look at the newcomer. He supposed it was strange, the two of them walking around the castle while the rest of the school was readying themselves for the Beginning of the School Year’s Feast in the Hogwarts Train, and the First Years were fluttering about in excitement for what soon would come.

Truth be told, he had rather seen himself arrive here with all them, watching the landscape blur by as he stared out of the window while sitting on the couches of the famous train. Sadly, various reasons and delays had made it impossible for him to arrive at the right station at the right time. Judging from her demeanor, professor McGonagall had rather seen it differently as well, though it was also clear that she did not fault him in any way. She told him to put down his trunk in the corridor at the beginning of the large stairs that led towards the main hall, not offering an explanation why, or what would happen to it.

Their steps echoed around the corridors, the professor held her wand before her, the tip glowing by an unspoken magic spell, that Steve knew by memory. He contemplated taking out his own wand as well, whispering _Lumos_ to it just to see it light up, but he did not. Some of the paintings grumbled and muttered, angry about the bright light that was not quite yet needed, and he wondered how something that was painted could ever be bothered by a light. The evening was falling, and soon it would be dark.

Eventually, they stopped before a large stone gargoyle, standing tall and proud before them, though he had his doubts about the construction. Art was as beautiful as the observer’s eyes saw, but he could hardly think of anyone who would find this piece of work appealing. The professor stopped, watching the stone creature.

"Licorice coins," she said, then she waited patiently.

It moved.

Like a real creature of flesh and blood rather than stone, the gargoyle unfurled its wings and snapped its beak towards the two standing in the hallway. It looked at them with a large eye, moving to the side to reveal a large wall behind itself, which split in two. The gargoyle snapped its stone beak again, arcing its neck with a curious glance towards the two. There was a spiral staircase behind the wall, moving smoothly upward, much like an escalator.

The two of them stepped onto it, the wall closed with a heavy thud, and the gargoyle was out of sight. They rose upward in circles, higher and higher, until at last, dizzy again, Steve saw a gleaming oak door ahead, with a brass knocker in the shape of a griffin. It must be the headmaster’s chamber. Professor Dumbledore’s chamber. Professor McGonagall raised a hand, fingers curled to a slack fist, and then rapped on the door.

"Come in," said a voice, sounding so old and yet so strong at the same time.

As if by itself - which, at this point, wouldn’t surprise him at all - the door opened ajar, far enough for professor McGonagall to take the handle and open it further for the both of them. Steve saw a flash of a most beautiful, circular room, full of funny little objects that shimmered and shone in various lights he could not yet see.

McGonagall stepped inside the room as sure as her whole stance always suggested she was, and, after taking a deep breath, much less certain and confident, Steve followed.

**𐐪𐑂** **♡** **𐐪𐑂**

When the time came for the First Years to pass through the large entrance hall that awaited them, the thousands of delicate candles, as they floated so gently in the air, seemed to curl and flicker as if to greet them warmly, and the stunning sight did much to the nervous flitter of bugs in Steve’s stomach.

The flames of those pale yellow candles twitched in that vulnerable, yet so powerful way fire does, the bright flames pushed by a breeze from the newly opened door. They twinkled in the dawning darkness of the ceiling above, that looked as if it was a window opened to the very heavens themselves, sparkling with a thousand stars, and lazy clouds sailed by. The candles swayed through the air like a sea of lights above their head, and briefly Steve did wonder how they managed not to drip any wax on the students below. That question was soon answered with the very one word that explained everything around here. Magic.

Those flickers and flutters were caught in the shine of golden goblets and plates that lay perfectly placed on the long tables in the hall. At the top of the hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting. Professor McGonagall led the first years - and Steve - up here, so that they came to a halt in a line facing the other students, with the teachers behind them. The hundreds of faces staring at them looked like pale lanterns in the flickering candlelight. Dotted here and there among the students, the ghosts shone misty silver.

Feeling like an odd fish out of the water, standing there taller than the rest of the First Years, Steve averted his gaze to the floor as to refrain from having his heart clench in his chest upon the sight of mocking grins. The thought that no one would mock him for being the older one among the First Years had not yet come to mind. Then, he looked at the four-legged stool that professor McGonagall silently placed before the table of the professors, in full view of the entire hall. On top of the stool, she put a pointed wizard’s hat. Steve frowned slightly at its patches and frays, and overall how dirty it looked.

Still, he could feel the magic ooze from it as if it were a river of ancient spells.

When the hat did twitch and twist, his brows raised, and he truly thought that this would be the most strange it could get. Of course, he would be surprised many more times, but though the spells he would learn, and the facts he would memorize, and the creatures he would see were all special and mind-boggling, none of them could be quite as weird as a moving, living hat. When said hat then opened a rip near the brim wide like a mouth, and began to sing as well, Steve could only stare.

Once the hat had finished the song in its deep, surprisingly melodious voice, the whole hall burst into applause. With something that could only be described as a smile, it bowed to each of the four tables before falling to a motionless silence. With a thick swallow, Steve gave the hat a fleeting glance, then quickly looked away.

"We only have to try on a hat, thank goodness," a young voice piped up next to him. Steve turned his head, regarding a young kid who was wobbling and twitching on his feet, hands unable to keep still as they plucked at his robes. The kid’s hair was messy, almost in complete disarray, and his bangs hung in front of his large, brown eyes. The kid was looking back at him, looking positively thrilled to be here. So much so, that he was practically jumping in place with his feet on the floor. "I’m Peter, by the way. Peter Parker."

"Steve Rogers," Steve answered, mustering up a smile to ease both himself and the kid, "Nice to meet you, Peter."

The kid’s jaw dropped.

Professor McGonagall began to read the names from a large scroll of parchment that she was holding. Peter’s head perked up shortly, but hearing that they started with ‘A’, he did not pay much more attention to it. By his side was another First Year, a chubby kid with dark hair, who had been looking left and right into the large hall, but once he heard Steve name himself, his head snapped their way, eyes equally wide as Peter’s.

"Steve Rogers?" he whispered, rushed, breath thin, "You mean, _the_ Steve Rogers? The guy who- _umph!"_

"Shhh, Ned!" Peter shushed while jabbing his friend with an elbow, a little too loudly, which earned them a pointy look from one of the teachers at the table.

Curious to the teacher, Steve lifted his head, seeing that the man was much, much smaller than the other teachers, having to sit on a special chair to reach the table. He had a shock of white hair, and was wearing green robes. The two of them crossed eyes, and the man’s lips curled up, nodding just slightly before clapping for a student who had been sorted into Ravenclaw. 

Right. The ceremony. He spared a brief glance to the two kids, who now whispered furiously to one another, before looking back at the hat. He dreaded his own turn.

"Rogers, Steven."

Stepping forward, his breathing thin and almost painful, Steve went to sit down on the stool. Whispers broke out like fires across the hall, heads whipping around to meet up with others, and as he sat there, he could just see them look surprised and crane their neck, before the hat was placed on his head. 

The wide brim slipped across his eyes, showing him nothing but a darkness made with old fabric.

 _"Well,"_ the hat spoke up, like a hush of voice in the back of his head. Somewhere, Steve hoped that the other students would not be able to hear what was said. Like a strange bird on his head, he could feel the hat move. "This is interesting. _Very_ interesting. Hm-mh. You’re a rule breaker, aren’t you? Yes. A reckless one, but in service of others. The greater good, that seems to be reoccurring. I see talent here, certainly. A need for friends. Hufflepuff would give you friends, give you what you need."

Steve gripped the edges of the stool, bowing his head and closing his eyes. He could not care less about where he would end up, he just wished for it to be over. He wished that Hogwarts had no houses at all, so that the sheer dread and fear that slithered coldly through his stomach like a worm would not rear its ugly head. Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Slytherin, Gryffindor, he did not care. He was alright with every single one of them.

He wished the hat would just pick one and be done with it.

"You have ambition, that’s for sure. Needs to be discovered yet, but that’s alright. A brave heart, oh yes, so brave. Selfless. You need to get your head right first, find a purpose. How about we go with that?" Unsure if it was a question or not, Steve gave but a minute shrug of his shoulders. He did not know. He just _did not know_ , and it ripped his heart apart. Almost as if reading his mind, which it probably did, the hat said, "That is alright, young wizard, you will figure out where you belong. They all do. Until then, how about we just put you with..."

The hat was silent for just a fleeting moment, then it shifted again and called out, _"Slytherin!"_

Barely a second later, a roar of cheers rose from the hall, most so from the table of students wearing the green scarfs. The hat was lifted off his head, but the pressure had not gone away at all. If anything, it seemed to have become even heavier on his already tight chest. He could not bring himself to smile as he walked to the table, though he knew it had nothing to do with the house he had been sorted in. Slytherin was fine. Hufflepuff would have been okay. Gryffindor would have been alright.

A few of the students quickly scooted over on the bench to make room for him, and he settled down next to a girl who had hair brighter than the flames burning above their heads, and redder than the banners of the Gryffindor table. The fiery locks curled around her face in gentle waves, pouring across her firmly set shoulders like lava from a volcano, and her bright green eyes took him in both curiously and openly. The corner of her scarlet-painted mouth ticked up into something of a smile, and she reached out her hand to lay it _oh so_ gently on top of Steve’s.

"You’ll figure it out," she said, her voice somehow perfectly audible through the pandemonium of cheers and voices.

Steve swallowed once more. "I hope so," he answered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I haven't done this before and I'm feeling like it. Next chapters will probably be longer. 
> 
> Cross-posted on Tumblr ;)


End file.
